Food

In the end only food matters
And those who endure your talking
With your mouth full
Kingdoms rise and fall
For the freedom of drinking
The right kind of borscht at Christmas
Dumplings are pockets of memories
Slice every one of them
And out come scrambled nothings
Or buttery satisfying silence
A glutton longs for the chastity
Of the sacrament of breaking bread
Together with friends
May our hunger never be
Fully quenched
Lest we stop returning
For second helpings